


Gifts for Simon

by marcelo



Category: Simon Spector
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcelo/pseuds/marcelo
Summary: This isn't the end.





	Gifts for Simon

**Author's Note:**

> Post _Simon Spector #1_. Not an AU, but hopefully an alternate future. Thanks to deconcentrate@livejournal for beta help.

As the post-peak effects of the drug wear off, your IQ rises from the low eighties, from the painful dullness filled with pain and confusion, dominated by the single, eternal image of your parents' death. Superimposed to it is the death of Christos.

The way he almost smiled as you pulled the trigger.

A hundred points. Still too low to regain your everyday meditative focus. Still too stupid to master your permanent PTSD. You wonder why he would have smiled. The drug's aftereffects wash over your motor system, and you are paralyzed by spasms of pain. It's only for twenty minutes.

Why did he smile? Was it a mirage from his destroyed nervous system?

A hundred and forty. It seems the damage wasn't permanent. Another victorious gamble against biochemical odds. Expected age of death: 49. Revised to 47, if Christos left plans in motion to be executed in case of his death.

A hundred and sixty. You aren't sure he smiled. Your eidetic memory isn't free from reconstruction artifacts. But maybe he did. It doesn't match your understanding of his psychology. You puke for the last time. The drug is almost gone from your system. Took longer this time, three days instead of one.

Estimated IQ: a hundred and eighty points. Three days. Christos' post-mortem plan, if it exists, will be executed today. Did he smile?

A hundred and ninety seven points, your off-drug current plateau. You need to know.

Ten point five percent chance that another dose of the drug will have lethal or bad enough effects to make your operations impossible. 

It's been three days. You need to know.

You take off your clothes and go get the boosting pills. No time to clean, and neither woman will be fazed by your nakedness. Other matters far more pressing. Three days.

Christos' smile.

You take the pill.

You've trained yourself to withstand the initial pain of it by torturing yourself weekly to increasing pain plateaus above and beyond those generated by the pills.

This is worse than anything you have ever experienced. Worse than any other time.

Your IQ hits two hundred and fifty. Three hundred. Numbers are meaningless; in this state, it's far easier to think in terms of complex matrices and arbitrary semantic trees. Language gets in the way of finding Christos his tomb killing him pissing over his body wait.

Fix on your emotional status. The drug always affects it no cognition without emotion but this is different. Anger beyond words.

The anger you felt after your parents were killed. Magnified ten twentyfold scales don't matter.

Christos. Drove you away to kill him while associate replaced your drug with altered version. Chemically induced psychosis. Smile before death so you would take another as soon as possible three days insane motherfucker three days after death.

Psychotic you lethal means weapons resources mind psychotic. Christos reborn. Sanity slipping away in seconds not too many hit comm system

"Sarah. Sarissa. Go Omega immediately."

No reason to do that, not anymore.

"Belay that."

They don't trust you. Protocol Omega: don't trust me anymore. Assume enmity evade or kill at all costs. Stupid bastard old you.

Now you have to kill them.


End file.
